


Got Your Goat

by Aladayle



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beatrice is dead, Bojack Is Happy, Corbin is Sterile, Corbin is kind of sleepwalking through this funeral so he isn't noticing a lot of things, F/M, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: In a different future, a secret comes out post Beatrice's death, after the reading of her will.
Relationships: Corbin Creamerman & Bojack Horseman, Corbin Creamerman/Beatrice Horseman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	Got Your Goat

**Author's Note:**

> Random one shot idea, because I like happy endings.

Corbin had barely slept since Beatrice died. 

He'd been there in her room, holding her hand--holding the hand of her shell, rather. Whatever she was at the end, it was not his Bea, not anymore. The dementia had stolen her from him, piece by piece, memory by memory, function by function, until all that could rouse her even slightly was her favorite song. 

And even then...it was only a smile. She had looked up shortly before passing with a dreamy smile on her face. 

Maybe he'd imagined it, or maybe-- 

"Dad, you look like shit." 

"Language," Corbin chided him, "You might get away with that in the board room, but with me here--at least let me pretend you're still the sweet little angel Bea brought home from the hospital." 

"I haven't been a sweet little angel since I was six." Bojack handed his father a glass of brandy. "Drink." 

"I don't want to fall asleep during the eulogy," Corbin tried to refuse, but took it anyway. His hands were shaking as he drank, but they slowed after he finished about half of it. "I would tell you that you drink too much, but you do know how to pick a good brandy." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I try." 

There was silence then--a silence Corbin would still be shaking at if it weren't for the brandy. There had been a time he prayed for silence, when his Bea would have her fits. When she would believe he was her father, coming to take her baby away. When she would think Bojack was the nurse, or that the coat-rack was some servant or the other. When she was scared and thrashing, or trying to run from nothing. 

Now it was a black scream, echoing endlessly inside his head. His Bea's long decline was at an end, and she was at peace, but his own suffering felt like it would never end. He expected to feel happier that she wasn't tied to that useless brain anymore, but all he felt was empty. 

He looked up at Bojack, who was studying his phone. A bright boy, he thought, even now, distracted as he was by the glow of modern technology. Brilliant leader--people flocked to him, listened to him. He could convince the most stingy investor to open up his wallet and invest in a new technology, a new way of doing things. He could convince the most cautious board member to vote or act to get things done. The company had weathered the Great Recession admirably, because of him. 

Corbin remembered that year well. 2009, when the company's future had looked bleak. Bojack spent so much time at the office writing up speeches for the PR head, doing press conferences himself, doing everything he could to keep the family legacy from falling apart. He cut his own pay and benefits, sunk everything he could into the company, and waited. While other companies were hemorrhaging money, Bojack had the board, the employees, the press, the country, all of them--convinced that this company would weather the storm without laying off a single employee or losing money. And he succeeded. 

That year, against all odds, there was profit. Barely, but a profit. 

Bea had kissed him, saying her precious boy had saved hundreds of jobs and livelihoods. 

Corbin kept such memories close at hand as Bojack gave the eulogy, trying not to cry. The end, though, broke him. Both of them. 

_My poor boy_ , he thought, wiping at his eyes. 

"...my mother died not knowing who I was, or who my father was. Not knowing that she was safe, that we loved her, and I...I'm glad she's at rest now, but...I wish she could have known. I wish I could have told her." 

He excused himself then, and the pastor came to speak. 

"Why is daddy crying?" 

Corbin looked down at the small girl at his side. Candyfloss was a pale grey little filly, Bojack's first and only child. The gift of his first loss, as Bea might have said. 

"He is very sad that your grandmama is gone," he said, taking her hand. "She...her brain was so bad at the end that she did not know she was safe and taken care of." 

"Oh. I hope that never happens to you." 

Corbin agreed, and hugged her. 

* * *

The reading of the will was a few days later. Most of what Bea had not already given to Bojack ("to hell with the inheritance tax" she had said in the early days of her dementia, when she'd made the will) went to a list of charities, and the remainder had long since gone into a trust fund for little Candyfloss. All that remained were a few little bequests in the form of properties or jewelry. 

And letters. 

She had left a letter for each of them, and instructions to keep the contents private from one another. This was meant to be mother to son, wife to husband, grandmother to granddaughter, private all round. 

"I'll take Candy her letter," Bojack said, "Stay steady, dad." 

Then he left. Corbin sat there opening the letter he'd been left. 

_Dear Corbin_ , 

_I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone. Even Bojack, but please don't let him know that. You saved me, you lifted me out of despair and set me up on a pedestal for who I was, not who you wanted me to be. I was beautiful and happy and **yours**. You have been the most loving husband a woman could ever have. But..._

_...but there is something that has gnawed at me our entire marriage. I was a coward to keep it from you, but no one ever treated me like you had, before or since. No one loved me like you did. Could care for me like you did, like I hope you will do even after I've written this. Perhaps this is the punishment for what I've done, this crippling lifelong fear of losing you._

_Bojack is not your son. Before I met you, there was a young fool named Butterscotch Horseman, a rebel, a bad boy. You know the sort. He excited me because he was so unlike my father, he spat in the face of the "establishment" and told it to go to hell. And the night of my debutante ball, I had a fling with him._

_I discovered I was pregnant just after our first date. And I couldn't--I couldn't get rid of Bojack. I could no more have aborted him than flown to the moon...but I couldn't marry Butterscotch, either. I couldn't track him down, the number he gave me was a complete fabrication. His reputation when I asked around spoke for itself. So I chose the good man. I chose you. I have always been glad that I did._

_Hate me all you like for what I've done, but please, don't tell Bojack. He's done nothing to deserve the anger that you should rightfully direct at me._

_-your loving wife, Beatrice Creamerman_

Corbin folded the letter into its envelope and took a deep breath. He sat staring at it for several minutes, barely moving, except to breathe. Her last letter, and she had confessed it. He'd wondered if she would ever have the courage. 

Then he looked at the lawyer. "Do you have a paper shredder?" 

"Of course, Mr. Creamerman." 

The lawyer shoved the wheeled paper shredder around the edge of the desk, and Corbin fed the envelope into it, watching as the confession of his wife was turned into unreadable strips. 

"Sorry, I forgot to grab mine," Bojack suddenly appeared in the doorway and rushed forward, speaking quickly. He saw his father, pale-faced and still. "What about yours, what'd she say to you? Anything special?" 

"Just that mushy stuff you hate. Nothing much." he joked, standing on wobbly legs before patting his son's cheek, like he used to years ago. "You're a good boy, Bojack." 

Corbin had always known that Bojack wasn't his blood, but that didn't mean he wasn't his son.


End file.
